


The Proposal

by Doberler



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doberler/pseuds/Doberler
Summary: King Arthur finally decides to ask Gwen for her hand in marriage, but his proposal and its aftermath affect more than just his beloved. Merlin and his knights all have something to say about it. A three-shot that takes place during Lancelot du Luc. Co-authored with Charis77.





	1. The Hearts of Men

**Author's Note:**

> Doberler’s Author’s Note: Charis77 asked if I'd co-author Arthur and Gwen's proposal and asked if I’d write their actual scene; I jumped at the chance. Then she asked if I’d write a scene between Gwen and Elyan and though my knees quaked, the challenge was on. The first chapter was written by Charis77 and edited by me. The second was authored by me and edited by Charis77. The last was a collaboration between us. I hope you enjoy our tag team effort. We certainly did. This fic is also posted on Fanfiction.net by Charis77.
> 
> Charis77 Author’s Note: Credit to CriesofCapricorn who inspired the idea for this fic in the first place with a PM request. A huge thank you to Doberler who agreed to co-author. She brings such heart and soul to the relationship between Gwen and Arthur. I highly recommend checking out her fic The Sorrows of Pendragons. This fic is also posted on Archive of our own by Doberler. Finally, I have to give due to the writers and actors of Merlin whose deleted scene provided the jumping off point for this fic. This chapter was written my me and edited by Doberler.

By Charis77

 

Merlin withdrew a fetching brown leather vest, one that Arthur usually wore when he wanted to impress a girl. He turned, holding it aloft with a smile. The king prowled around his chambers like a trapped animal, tugging at his loose collar, and barely glanced at it before shaking his head. The manservant twirled back to the wardrobe with a frown, a bit annoyed his pick had been rejected.

“I think I’m coming down with something,” Arthur spoke woozily.

“Indecision,” Merlin explained as he hung up the vest, glancing back to see the king bent over with elbows on knees, and now clutching at his collar with both hands and looking like he might vomit. “I hope it’s not catching.”

Arthur didn’t even chuckle. “I feel slightly sick.”

Merlin pulled out a couple other choices. “Well, that’s marriage for you.” As if _he_ knew anything about it, but pretense was necessary to lift his friend’s spirits.

“Really?” Arthur asked, befuddled.

“Yeah.” Merlin craned his neck back to regard the blond. “The thought of spending the whole of your life with someone? That’s bound to make you feel under the weather.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, appearing relieved. “That’s what it is. That’s exactly what it is.” He stood up, clasping a hand to his forehead. “Oh, my goodness. I’ve made a bad decision.”

“I didn’t say that!” Merlin shot back. Heaven forbid he talk Arthur out of this unintentionally! He turned around, clasping another vest along with two coats and attempted to rectify his king’s misinterpretation. “I think it’s only natural to be nervous in these situations.”

Arthur held out his hand as if begging for help, something rare for the man. “Nervous?”

“I always get nervous when I make a decision,” Merlin explained. “I start worrying about all the other options I’ve discounted.” Not really. Most of the time he just rushed into situations without considering consequences at all. He shrugged slightly, hoping his empathy calmed Arthur’s doubts. Maybe not. The king was swaying a bit like his legs were made of jelly.

“All right.” Merlin held up a red coat Arthur rarely wore but entirely appropriate for formal situations. “Princess Elena,” he said, reviewing the other options Arthur had been afforded for choice of a wife.

Arthur dismissed both the coat and girl with one evaluation and a wave of his hand. “Too girly.”

Next, the slimming black vest and the other choice. “Princess of Westenberg.”

Arthur looked away, scoffing. “Too short.” This dismissal applied to both the vest and girl as well, Merlin remembering how young the girl had been and how Arthur had needed to bend at the waist just to reach her. That Uther had suggested her had been ludicrous to them both.

The last was one of Arthur’s favorites—the brown coat he wore that reached almost to his ankles and he sported when he wished to relax and simply be himself. Merlin held this one up in full display. “Queen Guinevere?”

Merlin grinned as his friend’s worries evaporated with a deep, cleansing breath and his gaze went all sappy dreamy. He wished he could capture that image and pass it around to all the knights for a good laugh at the king’s expense. He’d probably end up in the stocks for that one, but it would be so very worth it.

“See?” the warlock encouraged, pointing at the king. “There you go. You are doing the right thing. So, when is the big moment? When are you going to ask her?”

Arthur swaggered over to Merlin. “Tonight. No time like the present.” He twisted around and held out his arms for Merlin to aid him into the coat. “You’ll be there should I need you.”

“I will?” Merlin blurted in surprise.

Arthur spun around. “You will,” he confirmed, ruffling the top of his friend’s head for emphasis and walking away.

Merlin closed the wardrobe doors in confusion. Wouldn’t Gwen just love an observer in the moment. He chased after Arthur who had made it to the chamber door and exited into the hall. He caught up to the king, paralleling his long gait. “Why will _I_ be there?”

Arthur flicked his wrist a couple times. “You have, you know…eh…”

“Yes?”

“Sensitivity. Girliness.”

“Girliness.” Merlin tilted his head, looking askance at his king. “Not sure what you mean, but how would that help if it were true?”

“I…just need some help…with the proposal…”

“You want _me_ to ask Gwen for you?” Merlin blurted incredulously.

“No!” Arthur shot him a fiery glance. “I’m more than capable of that.”

“Then, why do you want me there?”

“Just…because…decoration.”

“What?”

Arthur waved a hand. “I want something special…in her home.”

“You’re going to ask her there?” He thought the royal garden or the king’s solar would serve as better locations.

“It’s where I first realized I loved her.”

Merlin grinned widely. “That’s romantic, Arthur.”

The king’s cheeks flushed and Merlin stifled a giggle. “Yes. It is. Of course, it is. So, do something for it.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Flowers.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Remember how well _that_ turned out the first time?” Merlin shuddered as he recalled being shoved inside Gwen’s home under orders to dispatch the colony of bees that had been too tempted by Arthur’s _brilliant_ idea to fill it with flowers at the Feast of Beltane. At least he’d been alone and able to frantically zap the buzzing insects with magical bolts of energy.*

“Right…yeah. What then?”

“Candles? You’re asking her at night after all.”

Arthur stared at him for second, then nodded and clapped him on the back of the neck. “This is why I keep you around, Merlin.”

“To help you propose.”

“Yes.” Arthur smiled thinly and Merlin quirked his lips. “See to it, then.”

Arthur discharged him with a flick of his fingers, but Merlin hadn’t taken two steps before the king spoke up again.

“Out of curiosity,” Arthur cleared his throat, “what would _you_ say if you ever had the good fortune to propose?”

Merlin paused mid-step, setting his boot down softly.

_I’m going to look after you. We’ll go somewhere faraway. Somewhere with mountains, a few fields, wildflowers, a couple of cows, and a lake._

“Merlin?”

The servant swallowed thickly and turned, hands clasped tightly behind his back to hide his sudden despondence. “How should I know?”

“Give it your best shot,” Arthur encouraged. “I know it’s hard but imagine some girl has managed to fall for you.”

The raven headed man inhaled deeply. “I’d say I’m going to love you every day in every way until I die. I’m going to watch over you. I’m going to protect you and never let harm come to you. We’re going to live without fear ever again.” He had to work to fight back the tears threatening to spill, the tremor in his voice.

Arthur stared in awe. “That’s…it’s…”

“Lies.” Merlin’s head dropped.

“I was going to say ‘perfect.’”

“You can’t promise any of those things,” Merlin spoke quietly. He looked up, his words weighted with experience. “Because you can’t guarantee them.” He stepped back to Arthur, meeting him eye to eye. “If Gwen chooses you, then she knows what she’s getting. She knows it means danger and trial, not just flowers and candles. Just ask her, Arthur. She doesn’t need a speech.” Merlin turned and strode away.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he heard Arthur mutter when he turned the corner.

* * *

Merlin scurried around Gwen’s home, securing every beeswax candle he’d been able to scrounge up from the castle into its holder. The expensive candles would fill the room with a pleasant smell instead of the smoky flames of waxy tallow. He stood back when he finished, hands perched on his hips, nodding to himself with a delighted smile. Gwen would love it.

He tugged the curtain back from the front window and peeked out. Arthur should be along any minute with his beloved on his arm. He’d been both shocked and pleased at the king’s unflinching directness with his uncle in declaring his intention to marry Gwen. So many years watching Arthur pine after a woman more deserving than any other of his affections, and it was finally going to happen. When Arthur had informed Agravaine, he’d wanted to turn around and shout a triumphant, “Yes!” He’d settled for a hidden grin.

Two figures appeared on the path to Gwen’s house, one broadly muscled holding the hand of the slimmer that was hooked in his elbow. Merlin whipped back around, palms out, and his eyes burned gold. Every candle flickered to life and the room lit up with the soft haze of candlelight. Merlin held his breath at the starlike dancing flames casting fluttering shadows upon the walls. He wished he could admire the beauty longer, but quickly exited the front door and slipped to the corner of Gwen’s home.

Warmth enveloped him as he watched his friends draw near. Gwen smiled sweetly, so confident in Arthur as her guide through the dimness. Her blindfold had been all Arthur’s idea. The king was far more amorous than most people knew. Arthur sought him out with his eyes as they reached Gwen’s door.

Merlin's eyebrows scrunched together. Wait. He wasn’t wearing the coat they had spent all that time deciding on this morning. Merlin gestured at him with a questioning look, then tugged at his own jacket. Arthur shrugged, grimaced, and raised the arm holding Gwen’s hand long enough to reveal a damp stain on the armpit.

Merlin pinched his lips to keep from chuckling at his friend’s uncharacteristic nervousness only to receive a death glare from Arthur. He smiled, pointed at Gwen, and gave an encouraging nod. His friend nodded back, not too unlike the dutiful bob of his head before attacking an enemy. Arthur Pendragon was king. He would propose or die in the effort.

The door opened, and the couple entered. Merlin sidled along the wall to peer in through a sliver unobstructed by the window’s curtain. Gwen sat on a stool with her back to him, now absent the blindfold. Arthur knelt in front of her where he could see the window and cling to the moral support of his servant’s presence. Merlin averted his eyes, unwilling to trespass too much on the privacy of the moment, though he listened.

Words were so long in coming, he worried Arthur might have lost his nerve. Then the king’s steady voice drifted to his ear. “Guinevere…” Another pause. _You can do this, Arthur. Ask her._ “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Finally.

Tears and sniffling indicated the maiden’s overwhelming joy. Not surprisingly, Arthur didn’t catch the meaning, asking in confusion, “Is that a yes?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gwen effused. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

Merlin’s smile glowed as a dream come true materialized for his friends. Arthur would be sliding the silver ring on her finger now, sealing their promise to join two hearts as one. He pulled back, turned on his heel, and walked away. The deed had been accomplished splendidly. He was no longer needed.

He took the long way back to the citadel, filled with his own joy, appreciating the clear starlit night. The smile plastered on his face probably looked a bit silly, but he couldn’t help his thrill. Things were changing so fast and for the better. Gwen as queen. She was special, a boon to Camelot’s future.

His smile eventually reduced to a thin upturned line as memory reminded him of those first few months in his new home in the company of a girl unlike any he’d known. Gwen, a friend from the beginning, and one he admitted he’d once imagined the possibility of more from after her impulsive kiss when he hadn’t perished from poisoning. He’d dared to briefly consider there might be a chance for them, but nothing ever came of it.

Merlin exhaled lowly as he met the castle wall and began to round it towards the front gate. He’d never really had much luck with women. He could count on four fingers his scarce encounters. He did, lifting one as he thought.

First, Aalis, who he’d worked up the nerve to kiss on the cheek as they hid amongst the rye stalks outside Ealdor. Then again, he was seven and earned a good pop on the mouth, so maybe that one shouldn’t count. He shrugged and kept his first finger extended anyway.

Two, Licia. Traveling merchants had broken a wagon wheel, forced to stop in his village. He’d reached the brain addled age of thirteen when fiery stirrings in the body raged, and the head merchant’s daughter, unsullied by mutterings about his strangeness, took a shining to him. He’d found her tantalizing—rebellious, unafraid of the world with a devil-may-care attitude—until she’d gotten him alone and about sucked his face off with her painted lips. He’d run. He’d actually run. Merlin slapped a hand to his forehead and blood rushed in his cheeks, still embarrassed after all these years.

Third finger, Ysmay. Reserved, thoughtful, kind in every way, especially to an angsty boy of sixteen who hated everything—the confining village, his mother’s chores, the restriction of his greatest asset. Not that he told her what made him unique; she thought he was special without even knowing. Then he’d had the audacity to brush his lips across her forehead and been seen by her father. The sharp upbraiding they received brought Ysmay to tears and included the threat of a beating for Merlin if he dared see her again. A bastard with no skills was worthless as a potential husband.

Merlin’s fists clenched at the memory. He had a skill. He could have protected Ysmay far more than her father ever could.

Merlin halted. He hadn’t intended to come this way, but a locked entrance faced him, one that led into the catacombs. He glanced at the three fingers stretched out from his palm, raised his pinky, and rested against the stone wall next to the gate. Freya.

His time in the dank tunnels had been the greatest of all. A few giddy short days spent in another place lit with flickering candlelight. Shy smiles, a wish for strawberries turned into a rose bud, and a kiss he could never put words to. He’d proposed in his own way, vowing to take her away to safety and freedom. He’d broken his promise.

He fingered his lips. Her kiss was the most cherished, the most chaste, the one he remembered in every detail, his senses heightened as he pressed close to her, savoring the soft warmth of her body and mouth. He’d barely noticed the tear that escaped his control. She was the one he would have abandoned even his destiny for. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t scrub her from his mind, why images of her loomed at the most random moments. She had been and always would be his one and only true beloved.

The warlock wrapped his arms around himself. The commitment Arthur and Gwen shared would never be his to experience. Freya had taught him his fate was a solitary existence. All he had to offer a woman was a secret that could lead to execution and a mission that consumed his every waking moment. He couldn’t in good conscience ask anyone to join him in such a life.

Merlin moved along, his smile vanished, his shoulders drooped. He passed through the front gate and into the hallways of his current home, wandering aimlessly. He didn’t hear the voices in the armory until one called out, “Oi! Merlin!”

He paced backwards to look in. “Yeah?”

“Why the long face?” Gwaine stumbled away from a stool he’d been occupying. Merlin noted two other faces evaluating him—Percival and Leon.

“Eh… Nothing… Just thinking…””

“Yeah? About what?”

“Erm…” Women and kissing and marriage. Yeah, that didn’t sound girly at all. So he blurted out the next thing that passed through his mind. “Arthur's getting married.” Merlin cringed when Gwaine’s eyes twinkled and a mischievous smirk proclaimed Arthur was doomed. He could kill himself right now! He’d just let the cat out of the bag and to Gwaine of all people.

“He finally asked Gwen?” Leon inquired.

“Uh huh,” he practically moaned.

Percival, often the most perceptive of the group, nodded at him. “He’ll still need you, Merlin. It’s not the end of the world.”

Merlin’s cheeks tinged for the second time that night at the pinpoint accuracy that pierced the loneliness in his heart. He was happy for Arthur and Gwen, truly, but his own isolation grew keener in the light of their joy.

“You’ve still got us!” Gwaine declared, flinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into the room. “Come join the confirmed bachelors! No women. No engagements.”

“Just mead and gambling and the smell of your sour breath,” Merlin returned. “Just what I need.” _Exactly what I need._

 Gwaine guffawed, Leon and Percival joining in. Merlin chuckled, then laughed aloud as he was patted on the back and plunked down at their game of chance. He might never be afforded the love of a woman, but he’d been gifted friends closer than brothers. For him, for now, that was enough.


	2. Promises from the Heart

by Doberler

 

Right up to the moment he saw Gwen so diligently at work in the simple act of making a bed, he’d fretted whether he’d made the right decision to make her his queen. So much was at stake, many would disapprove, yet he dared to cast aside centuries-old tradition, refusing to forge an alliance through marriage for the sake of the kingdom. Marrying for love, as he’d once told his father, would make him a better man with someone he treasured by his side.

He admired Gwen’s qualities every day, respected her nature and adored her spirit. She was stronger in character than any princess he’d ever known; had shown true courage on many occasions, held her ground and minced his pride like no other. Uncommonly well-read, tutored by Morgana when they were young, he’d offered her access to the royal library once he learned of her thirst for knowledge. And she was far more eager and superior at examining harvest yields and studying monthly water reports than he ever was. Since his father died, he’d even secretly allowed her to aid him in certain matters of court.

Then there was the other side of her, the side where grace and humility had no business making his blood rush when she smiled and when brown eyes shared secrets that no other could see. The exotic color of her skin, her curves both hidden and exposed, were pleasing to behold yet forbidden to his touch. Five years they’d danced around each other, taking turns sabotaging any hope of a deeper relationship, hurting one another because of duty, social conduct, or some other damned reason. Those times were over. He chose her as his queen, desired her as his wife, and yearned to be her lover. He’d promised things would be different when he became king and now to prove his words meant something, he let his doubt melt away and set his plans in motion.

Arthur released his hold on the loose cloth dangling around his neck and advanced towards the maiden flattening the top cover of the bed. His approach was quiet and he covered her eyes with his hands. Gwen started, but relaxed immediately under his hold.

“Eyes closed,” he tenderly whispered in her ear. “Do you trust me?”

Gwen smiled, bobbing an affirmative with her head. As she teetered happily in place but kept her lids shut, he pulled the cloth from around his neck and covered her eyes with it. Taking her slightly calloused, yet delicate hand into his rougher one, he led her out of the room and into a tight alcove a few paces away. He reached far above his head, digging his fingers into a crack until he heard a sharp click. Stone ground against stone as a small doorway slid open, stale air rushing in from a secret passage that tunneled out of the castle. It was the most discrete and safest way to escort Gwen to her home.

Gwen leaned into him, a hand darting to his chest and disturbing the fine hairs, making his blood rush through him. “What is that?”

“A secret passage out of the castle,” Arthur informed her, his body warm and tingly. “Few know about these. Each floor of the keep has access to it. Trust me; it’s all right. Come. There’s nothing to obstruct us but stay close.”

Torches lit by Merlin earlier dotted their path in the narrow walkway. Gwen pressed close to him, one hand tight in his, the other brushing against the stone wall as they made their way to a twisting stairwell.

“Stairs,” he primed her, descending a step and glaring into the steep dimness before glancing back at her.

“Arthur?” she whispered, taking a timorous first step downward, her grip crushing his fingers. This place would be unfamiliar to her and that was part of the exercise. They had two flights to descend and he didn’t want her frightened.

“I’m sorry, my love.” He climbed back onto the landing and scooped her up in his arms. Gwen caught her breath, a giggle escaping her lips. “It’ll be faster this way.”

“I thought I knew this castle inside out,” she said, clinging to him and making his heart pound, “but I guess I was wrong.”

“Well, you’re free to use it anytime. Just not to escape from me.”

“Never.” Gwen found his cheek in the dimness and kissed it, making his ears buzz as blood rushed to his head. If the space had allowed and they weren’t in such a precarious position, he’d have spoiled one surprise for another by asking her right there to marry him. It was good that he couldn’t. It wasn’t the proper place for the occasion and he wanted the moment to be special for her, something they’d remember for the rest of their lives.

“We’re almost done here,” Arthur assured her as he took the final step and then set her upright. He clasped her hand immediately and continued down another corridor. “Just a few more passages and we can breathe fresh air again.”

“All right. But what is this about? It isn’t my birthday and Beltane is months away.”

“Hmmm. Beltane. And what shall we do this year?”

Gwen giggled, the torchlight catching her adorable blush. Their private celebrations had increased from a chaste first dance and a simple bundle of flowers, to a spool of purple thread and an intimate moment under a blanket that almost led to more than was appropriate. One year he’d filled her home with flowers and he’d ended up with a bruised head when Gwen had tried to swat the bees that had come with them with a broom.* This year would be special. They’d be married by then and he could give her the world.

The door at the end of the passage was slightly ajar, a sign of relief for Arthur. “Door,” he said as they advanced and pushing it wider, he led Gwen outside where dusk and a horse were waiting. Thank God Merlin was punctual this time; the idiot was chronically prone to tardiness for one reason or another. Peta, his bay palfrey, knickered softly as they approached.

Gwen asked, “We’re going for a ride now?”

“Yes. To a place very special to you. Here, the reins.” Gwen held them in her left hand, resting it on the horse’s neck. Arthur guided her fingers to the back of the saddle and she took hold. “Lift up your left foot.” He leaned down to cup both hands under her foot. “Up you go.” Gwen mounted deftly, her dress rustling and wildly falling all over the saddle behind her and baring her stockings. Arthur swallowed and quickly readjusted her skirt to cover her legs while she shifted in the saddle to help him.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she said with a coy smile.

He smiled and patted her knee. Soon, he’d be able to take those off her, he mused, his face feeling flushed. He cleared his throat, gripped the pommel and back of the saddle, set his foot in the stirrup, and straddled the horse behind her, wrapping his arms around her to handle the reins. The lavender scent of her hair greeted him, making his head swim as she filled his senses.

“Arthur, this is so peculiar. Where are you taking me?”

“It’s part of the surprise,” he teased, the smooth gait of Peta relaxing him. It wouldn’t take long getting to her home using the route he’d chosen, hugging the outskirts of town and avoiding the main roads. By the time they reached the alleys of the towns, shops on the main streets would be closed and decent people retiring to the comfort of their homes. Curious eyes would be avoided.  Arthur didn’t want to take a chance of his surprise being spoiled nor give reason why their king was escorting his lady blindfolded through the streets. “Patience, my love. Not much longer now.”

They didn’t ride Peta to her front doorstep; instead, he tethered her in the alleyway and then dug his hand into the saddlebag. Extracting a small silver band, he fingered its ridges with fondness before sliding it onto his left pinky. Securing Gwen's hand into the crook of his elbow, he guided her toward the main street and then in the direction of her house currently shining with the brightest candlelight.

He caught sight of Merlin waiting at the far corner of Gwen’s home, a puzzled look on his face and tugging at his jacket. Ah, the coat that he didn’t wear after all the fuss. Arthur hiked his shoulders, his face twisted, and then raised an arm. The sweat staining his linen shirt was an embarrassing combination of edginess kept in check and the heat brought on by the moment. Even from this distance and in the waning light, he could see Merlin trying not to laugh, and Arthur pinched his lips in annoyance. His servant pointed to Gwen and nodded, his smile beaming with encouragement. Arthur acknowledged with a bob of his head.

Arthur swallowed another lump of nervous tension, now steps from the door, the vital juncture almost upon him. Once they were across the threshold, their lives would change forever. The prospect thrilled him, terrified him, but didn’t stop him from opening the door and leading Gwen through it. Caressing her by the shoulder with one hand to stay her, he closed the door with the other. Their long wait, five turbulent years of desiring and denying was almost over. Arthur untied her blindfold to shed more than light on their promising new future.

Gwen gasped at the hundred candles flickering on every surface around her home. He tossed the cloth aside and taking her hand, led her into the room. Guiding her to sit on a wooden stool, small gasps of surprise escaping her lips as she marveled at the sight, he knelt in front of her and clasped her hands in his. Merlin’s romantic idea was brilliant, but Gwen shone brighter than every flame within the room.

He gazed at her for a moment and words Merlin had said earlier came to mind. _I’m going to love you every day in every way until I die. I’m going to watch over you._ He was hesitating; he hadn’t lost his nerve, just his own words. _I’m going to protect you and never let harm come to you._ Could he make such a promise and keep it?

“Guinevere.” He didn’t have to. _She knows what she’ll be getting._ “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Her warm smile turned serious and baffled him as much as the sudden embrace she wrapped him in, crying tears of joy ... he believed.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes,” Gwen gushed with a laugh, pulling back and seating herself. “Yes. Yes!”

He laughed out of relief—no, joy, and removed the silver banded ring from his little finger. Taking her left hand, he slid the promise of marriage onto her finger. It had been his mother’s. He’d kept it secreted in his desk, waiting for its rightful owner, his perfect match. Now it was Gwen’s, the only other woman he adored and would cherish with all his heart. Love glowed in Gwen's eyes and tears of appreciation shone on her cheeks. He pulled out the bench tucked under the table to sit, feeling intoxicated and happy.

“It’s truly happening,” Gwen said, choking back her tears. “As much as I’ve wanted it, dreamed of it, I didn’t think it would ever be.”

“I made a promise,” Arthur said, holding her hands. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long. I’ve been king for many months and I should have done this sooner. Forgive me.”

Gwen panted, shaking her head, grieved, it seemed, by his apology. “There’s nothing to forgive, Arthur. I understand your duties, your priorities, and I’ve never wanted to burden you with such a decision. I was happy with what we had. And now that we’re going to be married, it’s difficult for me to ignore that I’m—I’m lowborn, a servant who has nothing to offer the kingdom.”

“Don’t say that,” Arthur said in a serious vein, gently squeezing her hands. “We’ve talked about this, remember? You have more to offer than any princess in the Five Kingdoms. You may not have property, or gold, or an army behind you, but you are everything this kingdom needs. Everything _I_ need. Don’t be frightened.”

Gwen chewed her bottom lip, diverting her eyes as more tears tracked down her cheeks, tears he’d seen too many times. She loved him but was scared nonetheless.

Arthur pounced to his feet and gathered her into his arms, worry snaking through him as she trembled. This should be a happy occasion and yet he brought her to tears again. “Oh, my Guinevere. I feel the same.” He pulled back and looked at her intently. “I love you more than anything. I’ve wanted you as my wife the first time I kissed you and God, it scared the living hell out of me. What terrified me more was the thought of losing you when my father tried to force me to marry all those others. Don’t you understand? I would leave this all behind to be with you. Is that what you want?”

“No,” she said. “I would never ask that of you. Camelot needs you as much as you need it. Arthur, I’m overjoyed to be your wife. I’m just overwhelmed that I’ll actually be queen in a matter of days.”

“I’ve never lied to you; it won’t be easy. Some will oppose; some will try to undermine your authority, but I’ll be right here. So will Merlin and the knights. You won’t be alone.”

She smiled in that loving way that always touched his heart, relaxing under his touch. “I won’t disappoint you, Arthur. I’ll make you proud.”

“I trust in your strengths, my love. I want you happy. That’s what’s important to me.” He bent his neck and pulled her into a lingering, tender kiss, his heart thumping in his head, his body craving her. He separated from her, his blood rushing, breath heaving, and eyes hooded, just heartbeats away from running into trouble called deep desire. She licked her lips, her face flushed, a longing in her brown orbs and trouble shouted louder. He took a backstep, dropping his arms to his side, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“We’ll, um,” he swallowed as he shuffled his stance. “We’ll send out pigeons tomorrow announcing our wedding.” His head was clearing now, his thoughts straightening out to recall the plans to set in motion. “We’ll have feasting, dancing, and a three-day tournament in your honor. You’ll be on display for all to see.”

“Oh!” Gwen gasped, swaying. Arthur steadied her with strong arms around her waist, tightening his hold.

He’d lived all his life in the public eye, the darling of the kingdom growing up and the dashing young prince when he became a man. She’d lived in the shadows all of hers, a lowly peasant, a faceless, sometimes nameless servant whose only duty was to keep her mouth shut and care for the whims of the nobles. Only when he’d openly courted her early last year did she realize the attention she’d receive. As queen consort, every eye would scrutinize her, judge her every action.

“It’s all right, my love,” he whispered, having faith that she’d endure. “The world will be at your feet and you need not answer to anyone again.”

* * *

The pleasant smell of beeswax filled the air and Gwen wrapped her arms around herself, her body tingling all over and her thoughts recalling the wonderful events of the evening. She was used to surprises from Arthur, small yet splendid gifts of affection he’d given her over the years. Last year when a rare winter storm blanketed Camelot with snow, he’d made her close her eyes and then placed a burgundy scarf around her shoulders, said it was something to keep her warm for the romantic picnic he’d planned in the fresh powder.* She had no reason to think this time would be any less special especially with the mysterious blindfold and a romantic, comfortable ride on Peta. She loved the security of his arms around her, his soft breaths on her hair while he sat behind her, the rise of his chest and the beat of his heart as she’d leaned back into him.

What he had waiting at the end this time was not just a sweet token of affection: it was more than she’d ever expected, had ever dreamed. Arthur had given himself to her, wholly, eternally. Gwen steadied herself against the table, trembling, weak arms trying to support her. She was marrying a king.

No. First and foremost, she was marrying a man; the man she’d loved ever since he was bitten by the Questing Beast and nearly died from its poison. She’d helped Gaius nurse him through fever, painful spasms, and heart wrenching nightmares while he slumbered. Gwen wanted to believe that she’d willed him to live, commanding him to fight because there was more than a kingdom that needed him. Gwen caressed her cheeks, the candles waxed low but still flickering bright made her head spin and stuttering breaths escaped her lips.

Five days.

All these years, holding onto something that was impossible had made her feel foolish at times, especially when one of them broke the other’s heart. His promise that things would be different when he became king, his word, his love, was all she had to cling to. It’d been worth the wait and she’d been blessed for her fortitude.

Five days. In five days, she’d be his wife and her world would change forever. Gwen clutched her stomach, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. A husband.

The sudden sweep of her door opening and Elyan barging through shattered her thoughts and Gwen whipped around. A saddlebag hung from his shoulder, face smudged with dirt, and an obvious musk announced that he’d just returned from a three-day patrol.

“I saw the can—dles.” He stopped in his tracks and scanned the room full of flickering candles. “What’s this? Are you trying to start a fire?”

Gwen laughed and rushed into his arms, Elyan barely having enough time to slip the bag off his shoulder. Shocked and confused, he laughed with her, hugging her with a little sway.

“The most wonderful thing has happened,” she sighed, still wrapped around his neck. “I’m to be wed soon. To Arthur.”

Elyan stiffened in her embrace and he pried them apart to look at her with worried eyes. “What?”

“Arthur and I are getting married.” Joy seeped slowly with every word.

 “ _No_.”

“In five days’ time,” she stressed, her voice as firm and frown as deep as Elyan's now.

“You can’t.”

She gasped, her chest heaving and mouth working though the sounds that came out were unintelligible, grunts actually as she found no words, shocked by his sudden disagreeable stance on something not entirely unforeseen and long in coming.

“Elyan…?” she forced out.

“The king has many enemies, including his sister, and you’ve told me she no longer holds any fondness for you, for any of us. Can you imagine what she’ll do when she finds out you’re married to Arthur? It isn’t just him that will be the target now.”

Gwen’s shoulders relaxed. Morgana had attempted to destroy her relationship with Arthur a few years ago, framing her as a sorceress who’d bewitched the prince to fall in love with her. She was wholly exonerated when another sorcerer, a stranger to her, had confessed to a “crime” that she and Arthur believed neither of them had been under. True love commanded their hearts and minds; they didn’t need a spell to do it for them. “It was a long time ago, Elyan. Morgana wouldn’t dare.”

“She’s a powerful witch.”

“I’m not afraid of her.” She hadn’t seen Morgana for a few years, not since the noble turned against them and conquered Camelot with her half-sister, Morgause, and an army of undead soldiers. Morgana had treated her kindly during her brief reign, but that didn’t mean that Gwen had trusted her. That bond was broken a few years before that horrible incident.

“Gwen, I’m serious. Don’t you realize that as the queen, your life will be in even greater danger?”

She looked at him tenderly. “I can’t live in fear of what might happen. Besides, I’ll have Arthur and the knights to protect me. Including my little brother.”

He scoffed. “I never thought he’d actually go through with it.”

“What?” Gwen's heart sank and she pressed a hand across her bodice. She recalled thinking about their tumultuous affair and her doubts about ever marrying only moments before he’d burst through the door but it hurt hearing it from her brother. She thought he’d come to terms over their relationship and become favorable. “But why?”

“I’ve watched you; and him. One moment, both your heads are in the clouds, and the next month you’re doing your best to avoid each other. How many times has he broken your heart?”

“So, this isn’t about my safety?” she bit out, saddened at his weak search for a reason against her marriage.

“Of course, it is,” he retorted. “I don’t want to see you hurt in any way.”

“Some of the fault lies with me, Elyan. I’ve hurt him as much as he has me. It doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me. I remember how he was when we were young: an arrogant little bastard who treated the dirt on his boots better than the likes of us.”

“He’s changed.”

“Has he? What about that time before we marched to war with Queen Annis?”

Gwen remembered it clearly and lowered eyes that suddenly stung. She didn’t think he’d known that Arthur had broken his relationship with her because suddenly she’d become improper for a king. That major barrier had held them back from committing to one another and had come around again. He’d been forced to choose and that time it hadn’t been her. Despite the water that pooled in her lids, Gwen held to her convictions.

“All couples have problems, Elyan. I think I’d be worried if we didn’t. What’s important is that it’s always brought us closer when the trouble passed.”

“He discarded you for the sake of his image only a few months ago.” Gwen lowered her head, looking away. “How long will it be before he does it again?”

“Do you truly believe he’ll dishonor me in any way? Do you distrust your king? Do you not believe in me?” Gwen found his eyes and gazed at him intently. “We’re beyond those doubts, Elyan. I love him. I’ve loved him for a very long time. And he loves me. This ring is a testimony of his devotion to me and I’ll never let anything else stand between us.” Elyan slipped his eyes to the silver banded ring on her left hand. “Not even you.”

Brooding brown eyes skewed into her before he scoffed and lowered them, his shoulders and his bitterness deflating.

“What is it, Elyan? Truthfully.”

“I—just didn’t expect to hear this news and losing you is my greatest fear. You’re all I have left.”

“I won’t abandon you, Elyan. My good fortune is yours, and no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other.” Gwen wrapped him up in her arms. “I’ll be all right,” she said, assuring him with a peck on his cheek. “We’ll take care of each other, all of us.”

* * *

* Winter Wonderland, by Charis77. Fanfiction.net. 6/18/2017

* The Sorrows of Pendragons, by Doberler, Fanfiction.net.


	3. Straight for the Heart

by Charis77 & Doberler

 

“He’s coming!” the dark-haired knight alerted his comrades, easing back into the alcove.

“Quiet,” Percival hissed at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Leon protested, slumped against the wall opposite them.

“You are now.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Gwaine demanded.

Leon moaned. “This is wrong.”

“This is perfect.”

“But it’s the king!”

“Too late.” Gwaine grinned at Leon, who was looking paler by the minute. The curly haired knight entertained no qualms pulling pranks on any one of them, but the minute it was Arthur, he turned all righteous.

Leon groaned. “I can’t believe you made me think this was a good idea.”

“Well, we had to get you into your ale a bit,” Percival snickered.

“What? You set me up?”

Gwaine waved at his friends, silencing them. “Merlin’s almost there.”

“He’s going to find a way to punish us for this,” Leon moaned, covering his face with his hands.

“It’ll be worth it,” Gwaine insisted. “Trust me.”

Percival nodded eagerly, his grin wide, and Leon groaned again.

The creak of a door alerted Gwaine and he peered around the corner to see Merlin ready to enter with Arthur’s breakfast. The manservant, humming happily to himself, sauntered inside. The usual routine would be taking place—Merlin setting down the tray and arranging the plates, opening the curtains, and Arthur grumbling, staggering to the table and stuffing food in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten the night before. And since it was bathing day, Merlin would wait until the king finished his meal, then cart away his nightclothes along with the rest of the laundry. The perfect setup for an operation as delicate as this.

It wasn’t too long before the servant exited, the tray of empty plates balanced on a pile of clothing in the laundry basket. As expected, he trudged back down the hall away from their hiding place. Gwaine smirked. It was Merlin’s habit to transport the clothing to the laundresses and then return after Arthur finished washing and help him dress. All the pieces were set in motion.

Merlin disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hall and Gwaine motioned to the others to follow him. Percival ducked a little as if he could hide his large frame and Leon plodded after. Good Lord. Gwaine thought the man looked as if he was marching to his own execution. They huddled outside the door, their heads cocked sideways to listen.

For some time, all they heard was the sound of water sloshing in a great big tub and a bit of off-key singing. Leon and Percival were sniggering as much as he, and Gwaine bit down to keep from letting loose. When everything stilled and the awful singing stopped, Gwaine shushed them with a finger to his lips.

“What the—?” he heard Arthur exclaim. “That lazy git!”

Gwaine turned and held his palms up, frantically pushing them outwards, and the knights scrambled over themselves to retreat to their alcove. The door to the room cracked open and the king’s voice boomed down the hall. “MERLIN! Merlin!”

A soldier came running almost instantly and snapped to attention in front of the door. “Sire?”

“Find my manservant! Now!”

“Sire.” The solider bowed his head and backtracked in the direction Merlin had departed.

“Start with the laundress,” Arthur growled after him, poking his head through the cracked door.

There was a good deal of shouting and grumbling as they waited, all three of them snickering, even Leon grinning, though he also looked a little green.

“Two silver bits he’s wrapping himself in the drapes,” Percival joked, his grin wide.

“He’ll be smart and grab the quilt off the bed,” Leon bet.

“Nah,” Gwaine disagreed. “He’ll use the towel. Show off his manly chest hairs. That’s worth at least one gold coin.”

Hurried footsteps tapped down the hall when Merlin returned, opening and then closing the door behind him, Arthur's bellowing insults spilling loudly into the hallway for all the world to hear. Gwaine bent over in laughter along with Percival and Leon, then snuck back to the door.

“Where are my clothes?” Arthur was screaming.

“Huh? Ouch!”

Plunking steps sounded. “There’s nothing here!”

Gwaine pushed open the door stepping lightly through it, gritting his teeth to keep from roaring with laughter right then, caring not a whit about the inevitable consequences. Loyal Percival followed, a hand clasped over his mouth, and Leon tottered on the threshold, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. They beheld the spectacle of king and servant. Arthur held Merlin by the neck and his head shoved into the wardrobe. Gwaine's eyebrows shot up, his lips pressed so hard to keep from laughing tears were coming to his eyes. The king was bare naked, his creamy bottom facing them. _Looks like we’ve all lost the bet._

“They should be here!” Merlin protested.

“Idiot! You forgot fresh clothing.”

“I didn’t! I swear!”

Arthur released Merlin and Gwaine spoke up with dutiful concern. “Hey! We heard shouting. Is everything all right…Oh.”

Both Merlin and Arthur twirled around, two sets of startled eyes falling upon three knights who had no business being in the king’s rooms on bath day and were staring widely at their stark naked sovereign. Gwaine's lips thinned to constrain his delight. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen him in the buff before, taking a short, but needed respite in a lake somewhere while on long missions. Still, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and yanked him in front of him. Gwaine bit his lip and heard Percival stifle a muffled chuckle. Leon shuffled his feet.

“Eh…Arthur’s clothes…” Merlin stammered, wriggling under Arthur's tight grasp.

“Are gone,” Arthur finished, scowling at the back of the manservant’s head. “Because this dollophead forgot to retrieve them.”

Merlin looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t forget! I hung them up yesterday.”

“I swear, Merlin…”

“I’m not that stupid! Someone took them.”

“And why would they do that?”

“Maybe…just…because…erm…”

It was almost like Merlin was talking to himself, except for the blond head popping into view during the exchange. Gwaine put on his best “this is serious” frown and cleared his throat. “I believe, Merlin, sire. Someone must have absconded with your clothes. Percival.” He turned to the big knight. “Rally the castle guard. We must start a search immediately.”

Percival nodded solemnly and the knights made to exit the room.

“Wait!” Arthur screeched. “That’s not necessary!”

Gwaine turned around, along with Percival; Leon peeked his head around the door. Arthur had stepped into full view and upon realizing, sidled back behind Merlin. “Ah. Yes, my lord.” Gwaine winked at Arthur, his head bobbing with understanding. “Very true. After all, you won’t really need clothes anymore.”

Confusion appeared on both Arthur and Merlin’s faces, and they exchanged a glance.

“I mean,” Gwaine clarified gravely, “once you’re hitched, I doubt you’ll be leaving this room for at least a week. Maybe more?” He shrugged, looking to his partners in crime for support.

Percival nodded sagely, the big man playing along. “My cousin stayed in his house for a month. Had to get a new bed.”

Gwaine didn’t expect that and huffed a cackling laugh. Percival joined in with his great, deep guffaws, and Leon even chuckled.

Arthur slapped Merlin on the back of the head. “You _told_ them.”

“Eh…Yeah…It was an accident.”

Arthur gripped Merlin by the collar, dragging him along in front of him until they reached his nightside stand and then drew his sword. “Gentlemen,” he intoned dangerously, pointing the sword at them. “The first man that returns with my clothing _won’t_ receive a beating.”

By the time Gwaine and Percival turned around, Leon had disappeared, surely well on his way to scooping up the king’s clothes they’d dumped unceremoniously in the alcove while he slumbered last night.

* * *

Arthur was true to his word, which was exactly as Gwaine expected. The king didn’t train Leon as hard as Percival and him during the next practice session or set them to carrying targets back and forth across the training ground. Still, all three felt the soreness and rigor of a rather exhaustive training session, though none regretted their lark on the king in the least. That was until the day before the jousting tournament when the competing knights gathered on the field to hear their king read out the list of opponents they’d be facing.

“Sir Pellanor, Sir Maron of Alford. Sir Bors, Sir Vlad of Northmoor.”

He paused and Merlin was suddenly at his side. He glanced at his manservant, and the twitch of his mouth wasn’t missed by Gwaine, Percival, or Leon.

“Sir Percival, Sir Forsard of Tindall. And Sir Leon, Sir Julien of Wilmot. Sir Gwaine,” Arthur drove two blue spikes that he called eyes into him. “Sir Seber of Cambria.”

Gwaine grimaced with a click of his tongue. A hard practice hadn’t been enough. They’d just been assigned the most skilled, most muscled, most punishing of the knights on the lists.

“I told you,” Leon whispered in Gwaine’s ear, resentment in his voice.

Gwen swished by them and strolled up to Arthur, who slid an arm around her waist and leaned in for a kiss. When Arthur pulled back, he waggled his eyebrows at his three knights, satisfied reckoning written all over his face, and Merlin grinned like a Cheshire cat as the three of them departed.

A hand slapped against Gwaine’s back and its pair on Percival’s. Elyan smiled up at them, a twinkle in his eye. “I recommend in the future you leave my brother-in-law to me.” He snickered and wandered off to join Arthur, Gwen, and Merlin.

“So…” Leon summarized. “We have no women, our king’s ire, and are going to get pummeled in the joust. Tell me how we came out ahead again?”

Gwaine scoffed and turned away. “Speak for yourselves, mates. I’ve _got_ women.” He strutted away, his sword propped over one shoulder, whistling.


End file.
